Lili St Crow - Reckoning

I tried to cry quietly while I followed him. But I don’t think I managed.

I blinked furiously when he pushed a huge heavy door open, the hinges squealing. Even the dim light beyond was scorching, and I let out a little hitching sound of relief. The gunfire was in the opposite direction, but it was moving closer.

And this was actual, honest-to-God daylight . Cloud-filtered sunshine falling through small round windows like portholes high up on the stone walls. “Oh, sweet Mary and sonny Jesus,” I blurted. It was one of Gran’s favorites wouldja-look-at-that expressions, with a heavy dose of boy-am-I-glad.

Christophe glanced at me. We both looked like hell, dipped in seventeen different flavors of gunk and nastiness. But he was almost pristine under it, with the same old air of I could just step out of all this grime and be perfect again in a heartbeat . It was hard to believe he’d had his ribs smashed in and the rest of him battered to a pulp.

“Wow. You’re okay.” I could have smacked myself for Stating The Lamely Obvious once again. The warmth in my stomach stuttered, and I swayed.

Christophe gave a slight, pained nod. “ He had stolen quite a bit. I managed, it seems, to steal some of it back.”

Oh, okay. Great. Fantastic. Wonderful . “You know your way around here?”

“Logic, svetocha .” He peered down the hall, blinking as well. “This is the way I was brought in. I marked it in memory. Come.”

We set off down the hall, my shoes squishing and Christophe’s bare feet leaving black marks. He didn’t let go of my arm, and I didn’t mind. The touch of his skin on mine, even through the dirt, sent a warm current through me. We stepped out into the sunlight, and I made another relieved little noise. I couldn’t help myself.

“Sunlight, and I am not in the aura-dark.” Christophe glanced up. “Clouds are breaking. Just in time.”

I opened my mouth to ask him just in time for what, but before I could there was a howl and a scrabbling sound. The other end of the corridor had another iron-bound wooden door, and something hit it with incredible force. Gunfire thundered, loud and close, and Christophe pushed me against the wall. My shoulder hit with a bruising jolt, and he was in front of me, his shoulders up and his claws lengthening, the deadly tension in him making the touch resound like a brass bell inside my head.

“Dru.” Christophe didn’t glance back. “Don’t worry. If this is nosferat , the sunlight will hamper them.”

I nodded stupidly, realized once again that he couldn’t see me. “We’ve done the hard part.” My voice shook. My tough-girl card was so definitely going to get pulled. “This will be easy.”

And amazingly, Christophe laughed. The door shivered, splintering. Long cracks popped free of its surface.

When it flew open, I was ready for anything other than what happened.

Ash landed on all fours, and was halfway down the hall before he dug in with his claws, stone shrieking. His eyes danced, he was shirtless, muscle moving under his pale skin. Grass stuck to his hair, and he wore a wide feral grin.

“BANG!” he yelled, and the wulfen flowed in behind him, shifting through changeform and back into boyshape. And there was Nat, skidding to a stop, her sleek hair ruffled and the relief bursting over her beautiful soot-streaked face like a sunrise. Shanks, his head wrapped in a glaring-white bandage, flowed out of changeform and threw his head back, letting out a howl that rattled the thick glass in the porthole windows.

The ruins of the door were still quivering when August stepped through, his blond hair lighting up as the daylight intensified. And there, right behind him, supple quick Hiro appeared, his short black hair lifting up in vital spikes as the aspect crested over him and he lifted something to his mouth. It was a comm cell, I realized, and his dark eyes glowed as his lips shaped the words.

She’s here. We found her, repeat, we found her, she’s alive. Stand-by for retrieval protocol .

I burst out sobbing and stumbled away from the wall. Nat’s arms closed around me, and the rest of the wulfen took up Shanks’s howl. It was a joyous sound, high and glassy, uncomfortably like the suckers’ hunting-cries.

But this time I welcomed it, even as it raised the hair all over me and pulled at the raw aching places inside my head, still smoking and tender from all that hate and death.

It meant I was safe, and I gave myself up to the shaking and the crying so hard I couldn’t speak as they closed around me and started carrying me away.

It was awhirlwind. Across a square of cracked concrete, then out into a cornfield under a cloudy late-spring sky. The young corn was flattened, and I felt a brief burst of regret. It smelled nice and green, and the clouds were breaking. The sunlight, welcome as it was, seemed pale.

There were helicopters, their downdraft battering at even more corn. I was lifted in like a sack of potatoes, then there was Nat and Ash on either side of me and Christophe across, the ground falling away as the bird accelerated. I leaned on Nat, who reeked of smoke and the clean healthy musk of werwulf, her cat-like blue eyes glowing as she put her arm around me and touched my hair, hugging me a little every now and again. I sagged against her and half passed out, not caring. Everything inside me went all gooshy, all the tension and the pain and the struggle running out like water.

I only roused myself once. “Graves? Dibs?” I had to shout over the noise. It took me a couple tries.

Nat leaned close, her breath hot on my ear. “We found ’em. Everyone’s okay. Relax!”

And I did. I sagged into her, and across the way, Christophe’s eyes glowed. The aspect slid over him in a wave, his hair slicking back and his fangs peeking out from under his top lip, but I didn’t care.

The heat from Graves’s blood was gone. I’d used it all up. That was okay. I’d done what I set out to do.

My eyelids fell down, and I was gratefully, finally gone.

I heard voices, but it didn’t matter. I was numb. I didn’t feel like being in charge of anything anymore. I just drifted in a pleasant gray haze .

“. . . in shock,” someone said. “She’s bloomed, we don’t have to type her. Get the transfusion kit! ”

“But that would —”

“It doesn’t matter,” Christophe snarled. “This? This is hers. Get the kit, now! ”

Sound of movement. It was comfortable where I was, nice and soft, nothing scary. I didn’t even mind that I couldn’t move. It was just . . . drifting .

It felt good .

“Dru?” Christophe, very close to my ear. “Dru , kochana, little one, hold on. Don’t go. Fight it .”

Fight what? There wasn’t anything around here to fight. I’d taken care of all the important stuff .

Now I could rest .

A sting, on the inside of my arm. It felt familiar, and for a moment I was back in the wheelchair, strapped down, and the darkness was folding around me. Cold and dark, the absence of anything —

“Dru!” Graves, his voice hoarse and cracked. “Dru! Goddammit, don’t! Don’t! ”

“Get him out of here,” someone said .

“No.” Christophe’s voice cut across his. But it was wrong—he sounded breathless, disconnected. Like something was wrong. “Let him call her. She’ll listen.” A gasp. “Give her everything. As much as she needs, do you hear me? ”

“What if it drains you? What if you die?” Dibs, now. I felt a faint flash of interest—so he was okay? And he wasn’t stuttering? But there was that thing in my arm, and a burning spreading through me, pins and needles in my fingers and toes .